He passed his broad sinewy hand across his brow, as if to obliterate these signs of emotion, and advanced towards Annot, holding in his hand a very small box made of oakwood, curiously inlaid.

"I take you to witness," he said, "cousin Menteith, that I give this box and its contents to Annot Lyle.

It contains a few ornaments that belonged to my poor mother--of trifling value, you may guess, for the wife of a Highland laird has seldom a rich jewel-casket." "But these ornaments," said Annot Lyle, gently and timidly refusing the box, "belong to the family--I cannot accept--" "They belong to me alone, Annot," said Allan, interrupting her; "they were my mother's dying bequest.

They are all I can call my own, except my plaid and my claymore.

Take them, therefore--they are to me valueless trinkets--and keep them for my sake--should I never return from these wars." So saying, he opened the case, and presented it to Annot.